Never Been Kissed
by KeyBella
Summary: Based on the movie, Never Been Kissed. Sam Manson is your average 23 year old working at the Amity Park Tribune. On the assignment of a lifetime she goes back to high school. Plans change though when she just so happens to fall in love with her teacher.
1. Introduction To Insanity

Hey guys! Nope, sorry. This isn't **The Secret Assignment Club**, but this is my newest project! Yaaay!...Hopefully. -crosses fingers-

This is based on the movie "**Never Been Kissed**" starring Drew Barrymore. It was weird to see Jessica Alba in that movie, but she was still pretty good.

Anyway, obviously, I had to change it up a bit to fit the Danny Phantom universe.

Now, it's 1:34 in the morning, there's a lightning and thunder storm, and my poor little baby Yorkie, Angel (she's four months, I just got her Tues. She's so TINY!!!) is scared and currently sitting on my lap, waiting for me to take her back to our bed. (cough MY BED cough) So I shall close now.

Hope you like it,

DivaGurl277

(with love from little Angel)

* * *

I stared out into the night, terrified as I don't know what. My long black hair flowed behind me like a billowy curtain. The breeze felt calming yet chilling at the same time.

You know in some movies how they have a dream sequence only they don't tell you it's a dream?

I looked back out into the crowd of people. Reporters, friends, co-workers, high schoolers…who…I guess were my friends…in some really weird and twisted way. Mostly though, I stared into a crowd of people…but none of them were the one I was looking for.

This…this was so not a dream.

Looking across the field that I currently stood on, I saw the object of my affliction; the stadium clock was currently set on 5:00. This was it. There was no turning back now.

"What are you doing here, Manson…" I muttered, looking at the crowd again. I managed a weak smile, and was met by thunderous cheering. "Oh…God." I could have just died. I looked up into the crowd and saw Valerie pointing upward. Looking, I saw myself, plastered on at least six giant stadium screens.

"_Great…"_I thought. _"Not only do I feel sick but now I have the pleasure of knowing that I look it too."_

I don't know how this happened! I don't know why I'm here…well…okay…I do. But…it just… It wasn't supposed to be like this! I was just trying to do my job. And then things happened. Lots of things happened. Lots of weird and confusing things happened in my life. Well, actually, just life in general happened. And now…and now I'm here.

I gave a dry gulp that I was sure everyone could see as the clock finally changed from 5:00 to 4:59. I closed my eyes and kept a tight grip on the microphone in my hands as my heart hammered against my ribcage.

This really isn't my thing. Really. Anyone who knows you can tell you that. This is so ridiculous. I mean, come on! Two months ago you couldn't have picked me out of a crowd. And now…now you can.

Oh. Okay. Sorry. You're…really confused aren't you? –sigh- Well. Seeing as I have nothing but time on my hands right now I'll explain this whole predicament to you. I'll explain why exactly I'm standing in a baseball stadium like a complete ditz right now. I'll explain why and how I fell for the most perfect guy ever…who also happens to be my teacher. EX! Ex-teacher, I mean. I'll explain how the last few months totally and completely changed my life for the better…and for the worst. (So far anyway.) I'll explain how my job at the Amity Park Tribune got me into all this mess.

But most of all, I'll explain how I, Samantha Elizabeth Manson…have never been kissed.


	2. Meeting Samantha Manson

Hey guys! Here's Chapter One. Sorry it took so long. I've just been really swamped down with High School. :)

Oh, and guys, if you're thinking that Sam is sort of…off from Josie Geller, the character that Drew Barrymore played, think of this: Josie was quiet, demure, and kind of a pushover. Can you really picture SAM like that? If you can, I think you're thinking of one of those WAAAY OOC fanfics. (No offense to those who write them. I can appreciate all sorts of writing.)

* * *

Samantha Manson walked briskly into the bustling office, with a new copy of the Amity Park Tribune in hand. She was dressed smartly in a white button up, a black camisole underneath, and sleek black dress pants with matching black two-inch heels. Her hair was pinned up in a wispy bun with strands hanging down into her face.

As she walked, a young copy assistant appeared from behind a desk anxiously.

"Sam! Sam! Theatre!" she tailed Sam until Sam got to the end of the hallway and turned around, and Sam looked at her, then the paper in her hand before speaking.

"Uhm, hey Rhoda. Standard American calls for 'er'. Standard British is 're'. So go for 'er' unless you're a pompous American. Then I suggest you go for British."

Rhoda stopped in confusion as Sam walked off muttering, "Wait…'er'…yeah, yeah. Pompous."

Rhoda sighed in frustration as her cry came upon deaf ears as Sam was already rounding the corner.

"No…theatre…we were supposed to go, remember…?"

Sam kept walking until she got to a desk right in front of her office.

There, her pious-less assistant, Milo Baum talked on his desk phone ignoring Sam's obvious presence until she cleared her throat, obviously annoyed. She frowned in disgust as he picked his nose.

"Ugh. No way. Really? Ech." Sam cleared her throat again and he looked up dully telling whomever he was on the phone with to hold on.

"What?" He asked, wiping his nose with his hand.

"Messages?" She asked, pretending that she hadn't just seen that.

Milo removed the finger that he'd just put back into his nose and smushed his hand all around his desk until he got to a pink post-it. He held it out to Sam who gave him a 'you're-freaking-kidding-me…right?' look.

Realizing that the younger boy was obviously very serious she picked it up by a corner with her index finger and her thumb and cleared her throat as he went back on the phone.

"Seriously? No way. No way. So you went back to your house and what…on the _**lamp**_? Nooo. You are so ly-"

He heard Sam clear her throat for about the fifth time that minute and he looked up again.

"What?" he asked. Sam resisted the urge to strangle him.

"Milo, we need more yellow highlighters. I checked the box yesterday after you were doing…what_ever_ it is you do…or rather don't do and could we please get post-its in some OTHER color because-"

Milo swiveled around in his chair so that his back was facing her and continued his phone conversation.

"Okay, I'm back. Now tell me. Does she have a sister?...Oh...that ugly?"

Sam rolled her eyes and made a mental note to fire that moron. She walked to a dull wooden door with a silver nameplate that read, "Samantha Manson, Copy Editor". As if the name wasn't bad enough the nameplate just had to be hanging sideways.

She fixed it and walked into her office, throwing her jacket onto a chair. She then looked down at the disgusting note in her hand and dropped it right into the trashcan with an accomplished smile. Who'd want to read that boogie-covered scrap paper anyway? It was probably just another meeting about the missing office supplies.

Just as she was about to sit at her desk, a young African-American woman burst into her office excitedly, knocking her nameplate sideways again, unbeknownst to her.

"Saaam!" she shrieked excitedly. Sam looked at her with an eyebrow raised. The woman took this as enough encouragement to continue. "Guess whaaat!"

Sam plopped down in her creaky, gray swiveling chair. "Good morning, Valerie. Please, tell me, what clown did you jack for it's peppiness, eh?...And fix my nameplate." Valerie waved a hand at her impatiently as she turned to fix it and then turned back to Sam.

"Guess…what!" she cried again. Sam shrugged. "What?"

"Guess who I made out with last night in the filing room." Valerie beamed. Sam rolled her eyes and gave her a 'duh' look.

"Roger in Op/Ed." Valerie looked shocked.

"What? No way! Who told?!?" Valerie demanded to know. Sam laughed.

"Uhm, you did genius. Remember? And I quote, 'I have a date with Roger, yes HOT Roger from Op/Ed tonight, and I plan to make out with him.' It was then that I called you a skank." Sam told her, flipping through the paper she'd brought with her.

Valerie sighed. "Oh…yeah. But that didn't mean it was going to happen for sure!" Sam looked up at her and then looked back down. "Okay…so _one time_ since my breakup with Kwan it didn't happen for sure."

Sam made a tutting sound at her friend. Kwan and Valerie had been dating for almost two years when Valerie found out that he had been cheating on her for almost just as long with her ex-best friend Star. They recently had twins, Saria and Lucas.

Since then Valerie had been taking the breakup a little hard, and Sam almost dared to call her promiscuous. Sam wouldn't judge her though. Valerie Grey was usually very levelheaded, serious, and a lot less…well…skank-ish, and Sam supposed that this was just a phase…a phase that she'd get over as soon as possible.

"Well, I hope you're doing better. Have you stopped driving by his house and screaming to his neighbors that he's an adulterer?" Sam asked her. Valerie nodded.

"Yeah, since last week." Sam was about to congratulate her when she offhandedly replied, "They threatened to call the cops on me and the answering machine is better. Only got a chance to leave about twelve before work. Oh well. There's always break period."

It was just then that a slightly balding gentleman who looked to be about in his late-thirties walked in, looking important.

"Manson. Computer's down. Septuplets story. Need it back by five. Hopefully the copy's not a mess." He told her.

"Uhm. It is hoped that it's not a mess. "Hopefully" is an adverb. It means 'with hope'. You have it defining the copy, and I'm pretty sure the copy doesn't have feelings, Lancer." Sam turned a bit red as she realized that they were staring at her blankly.

"Excuse me, for caring about words." She muttered.

Samantha Manson was born with a curse. She was one of the coolest people you'd ever meet except for the fact that she had an issue with her grammar. It was just about _**perfect**_. She'd driven plenty of potential boyfriends away with her excessive need for correct grammar.

She was a lot better about it than she used to be though. It used to be an obsession. Now it was just a funny quirk that everyone had gotten used to. Valerie had even gone far enough to call her a 'Grammar Whore'.

They both ignored her and Lancer turned to Valerie.

"So. You and Roger in Op/Ed, eh?" Valerie looked ready to scream.

"I told _**you**_ too?" She asked. Lancer gave her a haughty look.

"No. Roger in Op/Ed did. Don't make me give you another memo about my policy on inter-office dating!" He threatened.

Sam came to Valerie's defense. "_Intra-_office. And they're not dating. They were making out, and it's **never** happening again, right Valerie?"

Valerie waved her friend off. "Yeah, yeah. But what _**is**_ your policy, Lancer? That if you're not getting any, no one can?" With that Valerie walked right out.

Lancer, ashen-faced turned back to Sam. "Please, Miss. Manson. Tell me. How many times have I fired her?"

Sam gave a wry laugh. "Five…six…?"

Valerie poked her head in and replied, "Seven."

Lancer sighed and shook his head. Just as Lancer was about to leave, Sam cleared her throat.

"Oh. Eugene, did you happen see the story idea I left on your desk?" Sam asked him as he reached for the doorknob.

He turned and nodded.

"Yeah. The blind foster home mother. It was good. I got Verandez on it." He told her, looking down at his watch.

Sam's heart sunk a bit, but she wouldn't let Eugene Lancer see it in her face if it killed her. She'd never hear the end of it and she'd get one of the 'be a trooper' speeches she was so very accustomed to that it hurt in an annoying kind of way, sort of like a toothache.

Try as she might though, he still noticed something in her tone when she answered him.

"Oh. Verandez. Yeah, he's…good." She said for lack of word.

Lancer gave her a look that she found to be somewhat condescending.

"Manson, we've been over this. You're a great copy editor. Maybe my best copy editor. You're not a reporter."

Sam tapped her foot impatiently. "You've done five of my ideas, Lancer."

Ignoring her, Lancer continued on. "You know what separates us office flunkies from the reporters?"

Sam was about to snap at him that she'd rather be gagged, bound, and thrown off of a cliff than have it be suggested that she were an 'office flunky' especially with the likes of _him_, but held her tongue and sardonically replied,

"They don't have to be in the office Christmas show?" Lancer gave a tired sigh and told her no.

"A flack jacket." He told her. Sam raised a neat and thin eyebrow at him and repeated, "A…flack jacket."

Lancer gave a firm and serious nod. "Every Tom, Dick, and Harry thinks he can write. But a journalist gets in there, right where the bombs are. He's aggressive. Grabs the bull by the balls."

Sam gave a disgusted look at the analogy but said, "You don't think I can grab bulls' balls… Do I even want to?" Lancer patted her on the back.

"Manson, you don't want a reporter's life. They're very--messy. You're all about order. Control. And getting me my copy by five." Sam looked at him, offended.

"I'll show you out of control…" she muttered to herself as he walked out. Lancer, hearing her, took a step backward and gave a firm knock on her door, sending her nameplate sideways again. Sam clenched her jaw.

She tapped her foot, looked out the window, and suddenly couldn't take it anymore. Making sure Lancer was long gone she strode up to the door and fixed it like she'd had it before. She was startled though, when Lancer appeared to the side of her with a knowing smirk.

"Copy by five." Sam closed the door in his face and swore at him under her breath.


	3. Never Been Kissed

Alright, guys. Chapter 3 is up! I'm so glad that some of you like this fic. I'm trying to keep it as close to the story line as I can without losing the personalities of the DP characters we all love! Happy 2008!

* * *

Sam and Valerie sat in the Amity Tribune lunchroom, both of them virtually quiet. Valerie popped open her stark white box of Chinese food with one of the chopsticks that were lying beside her, while Sam opened up a baggie of salad and poured it on the white styrofoam plate that sat in front of her. 

After a moment or two of both of them eating silently, Sam finally spoke up.

"Be honest. Do you think I'm aggressive?" she asked, moving a long strand of hair out of her eyes.

Valerie pondered at the thought for a moment before looking up at her with a sigh.

"Okay. Remember when they took your office chair in for repairs and forgot to return it?" Sam nodded.

"Yeah." She stabbed her salad with her fork at the memory.

"Sam, you stood for like a month." Valerie reminded her. Sam groaned in frustration.

"You don't understand! I'm totally used to being this outgoing girl with a kill or be killed mentality, it's just that…it wasn't always like that. I…I dunno…Everyone in the whole wide world keeps telling me not to be so aggressive, yet when I simmer down some, I end up being a total pushover."

Valerie nodded in understanding. "And on top of that, your chair is still broken."

Sam threw a glare at her as Anya, a co-worker of theirs put about three microwave dinners in the microwave.

The somewhat hefty Greek woman sat across from the both of them and greeted them with a bright smile as Sam continued her tirade.

"Just because I'm not _out of control_ doesn't mean I can't write." She huffed, pointing her fork at each of the women in turn.

Anya shook her head. "Sam, you listen to me. If you feel you're a writer," she touched her chest, "in here, deep inside, don't let anyone tell you you're not. Look at me. Everyday, I come to this paper and I pour my heart and soul into what I do. I feel it, passionately, to the core of my being."

Sam deadpanned. "Anya, you write **obituaries**."

Anya waved her comment off. "Hey, if you can make a busted aorta sound good…honey, that's art." Sam and Valerie laughed lightly.

Anya then held up a hand, indicating that she wanted them to wait a moment while she fished her three Lean Cuisines out of the microwave. Sam and Valerie shared a look.

"Anya…aren't those only diabetic if you eat them one at a time?" Valerie questioned.

Anya scoffed and stirred the Chicken Alfredo bowl. "I DO eat them one at a time." Valerie rolled her eyes evenly at the woman.

"Anyway, Sam, Y'know, maybe Lancer has a point. It wouldn't kill you to relax and have some fun. Roger's got a friend, Marshall in editing? The one with the lazy eye? Maybe we could double date." Sam blanched at the suggestion.

"…**_Forget it_**." She remarked sourly.

"I swear, Sam. When is the last time you went on a real live date?" Valerie questioned.

She stabbed at her sweet and sour pork with her chopstick unsuccessfully, then finally threw it on the floor and grabbed Sam's fork out of her hand.

"I'm concentrating on my career right now." Sam answered, glaring at the woman beside her.

"Do you own any bright colored underwear? Stripes? Flowers? Polka-Dots? Anything?!…Besides black and red?" Valerie hissed.

Sam's face colored considerably. "VAL!" She looked around to make sure no one was listening, and thankfully no one was in the room except the three of them.

"Look. You're way under 30, you're cute, some guys find vampire totally sexy, and we could work around the whole anti-color thing you got goin' on…" Valerie paused for a moment.

"If you talk to his nose you don't even notice the eye!" Sam laughed in spite of herself.

"The right guy is out there. I'm just not going to kiss a whole bunch of losers to get to him." Sam shrugged, picking at her salad with the one chopstick that she had left.

"Yeah, but sometimes kissing the losers can be a fun diversion." Valerie said suggestively. Sam shook her head at her in mock-shame.

"Nope. When I finally get kissed, I'll know." Valerie and Anya exchanged startled looks.

"Okay, Manson. If you've never kissed a guy, we got bigger problems than the gothic underwear." She eyed Sam carefully.

"Shut up, Val! And…Anya, stop looking at me like that. I've kissed _guys_. I've just never kissed the guy. Felt that thing…"

It was now Anya who spoke up looking confused. "'That thing'? Is that what you girls are calling it these days? Jeez. Where have I been?"

Sam, for what felt like the hundredth time, shook her head.

"No. That thing. That moment. You kiss someone and it's like the world around you gets all hazy and the only thing in focus is you and this other person and you know that one person is the person you're meant to be kissing for the rest of your life. And for that one moment you've been given this amazing gift and you want to laugh and cry at the same time because you're so lucky you found it, and so scared that it will all go away."

Valerie and Anya sat there, transfixed, both looking at her with a mixture of awe and excitement. It was finally Anya again, who spoke up.

"Damn, girl. You are a writer."

Sam just shrugged and gave an 'I-told-you-so' look to them both.

* * *

I hope everyone enjoyed that chapter! Now, I must go continue TSAC! Agh!

Here's hoping for awesome things this new year!

DivaGurl277


	4. The Opportunity Of A Lifetime

Sam gave a stretching yawn as she got out of her car, ready to go into the Tiki-Post. The Tiki-Post was basically a Mailbox Etc. store, but dressed in a Tahitian theme. She couldn't help but let out a snicker as she noticed the cardboard hula dancers holding FedEx envelopes. She was going to go see her brother, Tucker.

The first thing she saw when she walked into the store was Tucker wearing a smock with "Tiki Post" emblazoned across it over a Hawaiian shirt. He stood watch at the cash register, looking at some red haired girl as she walked past the store window. In other words, not paying attention to her in the slightest. But then again, what else was new?

She stood and watched as Tucker looked down at his shirt in disdain.

"And I here I thought people just wanted their mail delivered on time…"

Sam smirked and kicked the door lightly, sending off a loud burst of Hawaiian music. Out of nowhere, Tucker's boss, Monty sprinted over to her and threw a lei over her head.

"Aloha! Welcome!" Monty cried enthusiastically. She noticed that he had a banjo around his neck and she frantically looked over at Tucker.

"Relax, Monty. It's just my sister." At the confused and skeptical look on Monty's face, Tucker sighed. "I'm adopted."

It was true. Her parents had adopted Tucker from his parents when he was four and Sam was five. His parents, Linda and Benjamin Foley worked for her parents, but when Linda was diagnosed lung cancer and Benjamin was swamped down with not only credit card debt but also the expenses of Linda's medical bills they realized they were in hot water. The Foleys felt that they had no choice but to give their son up for adoption, hoping to give him a better life.

Sam was completely devastated. The young girl was afraid that she'd lose one of her best friends. Her parents, who already cared for Tucker as their own, settled an open adoption with his parents and permitted him to keep his last name. Sadly, when Tucker was twelve his mother, who had been weak and bedridden for almost three and a half years finally passed. His father was in such a wreck that any hope of him finally becoming financially stable was soon pushed aside. Tucker and his father were currently estranged.

Sam handed Tucker an envelope and watched as he rifled through the cash inside.

"Thanks Sam," Tucker smiled. "I'll pay you back as soon as I can. Bambi thanks you too." He added as an afterthought, nodding at the beat up yellow car outside of the store.

"That…is so weird." Sam replied. "The fact that you named your car is so weird."

"It is not." Tucker shrugged as Monty went to play a tune outside to lure in customers. "Guys name their penises."

Sam looked slightly disturbed. "Okay…" she looked out to where Tucker had looked moments before. "That car is going to bankrupt you."

"She is not." Said Tucker defensively. "She just needs a new windshield wiper."

Sam rolled her eyes. "Because I bought the windshield last week. I'm a hubcap away from owning more of Bambi than you do." Tucker looked at her in annoyance and shoved the money back at her.

"You know what, keep it. I don't want it." He kicked the counter and the cash register popped open. He closed it dourly.

Sam shoved it back. "Tucker, take the money, okay? It's no big deal."

"No, it is. It's just one more thing to add to your 'things that make you a better person than me' list." He muttered.

"Better person than I." Sam replied meekly.

"SEE!" Tucker said, pointing accusingly.

"I know this woman. She works in admissions at Amity Community. She might be able to get you in for the fall semester. Maybe she could get you the baseball scholarship, and I could help and-" Tucker shook his head abruptly.

"I'm not going to college, Sam. And I'm not playing any more baseball. This is my life."

Sam glared at him. "This-this is a luau that sells packing material!" She hissed.

"Someday this _luau_ is going to be all mine!" He told her, looking around proudly.

"How can you just give up like that? You had a real shot at playing college ball and you let one case of mono stop everything. Don't you want more? To move out of Pam and Jeremy's? Pay your own bills?" She asked.

Tucker blanched. "Oh yay! And then I could be as happy as you!" Sam smacked him on the arm.

"For your information, Tucker Foley," she strode to the door and opened it. "I am very happy! Deliriously happy! Enthralled in fact! I lead an awesome freaking fantastic life!"

Before Tucker could say anything she walked out.

"Come again!" Monty called after her.

* * *

The very next day the office was packed. The newspaper staff was running all over the place. Vlad Masters, owner of the Amity Tribune stood in front of them all, scrutinizing each one of them. Valerie and Sam sat next to each other, and on Val's other side sat Roger from Op/Ed. She winked at him and then stuck her tongue out at Lancer. His reply was a deep sigh.

"Let me start out by saying that I was very impressed by the investigative piece Dutton did on pesticides in our supermarkets." The newspaper owner began.

Dutton smiled as one of his co-workers slapped him on the back. "But," Masters glared, "since the Destin Times did a better piece on the same subject, you're fired."

Dutton's jaw dropped and everyone looked horrified. "You heard me. Out. Out!" Sam's amethyst eyes widened in worry as she took a huge bite out of her glazed donut.

There was a short beat as Dutton shuffled out and closed the door behind him. "So. Happy March everybody!"

"Happy March, Mr. Masters!" Everyone replied in unison. (Sam's reply sounded more like "Huhmph Harch Mhm. Muhters!" due to her donut filled mouth. Valerie smirked at her.)

"To celebrate, I've decided it's time for another undercover feature!" If Mr. Master's was expecting an excited response, it was needless to say that he didn't get it. Everyone looked completely under-whelmed.

"You all know that some of my best inspiration comes from personal experience. Who knew that my botched foray into hair plugs would lead to last month's award-winning expose, 'hair today, gone tomorrow'? Hats off to you, Pinmahn." Across from Valerie say Fredrick Pinmahn who was currently missing large chunks of his hair.

Sam winced.

"Or should I say 'hat's on'!" He was the only one who laughed at the cruel joke as Pinmahn nodded sadly. "And what about when my wife had that affair with Gil, her ski instructor and Howard went undercover as an expert slalom skier."

Howard, who was currently in a full body cast, nodded as best as he could to the brief applause.

"So, last night I'm sitting around the dinner table with my family. The newest wife, the two nannies, and the boys, and we're eating chicken with this peanut sauce." He explained.

"Undercover chef. I like it." Lancer nodded.

"Hang on, Lancer. So, we're eating this peanut sauce and suddenly the younger kid starts choking." He went on, scanning the faces of everyone in the room.

Valerie leaned over to Sam. "I'm SO smelling undercover ER nurse…" she whispered.

"Turns out, he's allergic to peanuts!!! And I am ASTOUNDED! I don't even know my own kids. I mean, who knows if they're even mine? And it got me thinking. How much do we know about kids today? What are they thinking? How many of them are allergic to peanuts? Boom. It hit me! 'My Semester In High School'." He finished.

Sam looked down to wipe the crumbs off of her red jacket only to hear silence. She nervously looked up, only to see Masters staring straight at her.

"You." He pointed. "What's your name?"

"Uhm…Samantha. Sam. Sam Manson." She replied nervously.

"Congratulations, Samantha Sam-Sam Manson. You enroll on Friday." Masters began a brisk walk to the door as the general conversation of his employees began once again.

"Oh! B-b-but I'm not a reporter yet, Mr. Masters." Sam called to him.

"And none of these geezers could pass for a day under forty. Have fun." With that he walked out. Sam's eyes lit up.

* * *

A few minutes later in Sam's office Valerie looked at her nervously. Sam paced around excitedly.

"It's finally happening, Valerie! I'm going to write!" She relayed.

"My own undercover feature – 'Written by Sam Manson'." She whispered in awe.

Valerie looked concerned. She watched for a moment longer as Sam paced back and forth, bouncing ideas off of the wall before she sighed. "Sammy, maybe you should turn it down."

Sam froze and looked at her, her face downcast. "…You don't think I can do it."

"No, no, no!" Valerie defended. "It's just a lot of pressure for your first piece, that's all. I mean, it's not a half-page article; it's a major undercover piece, Sam. Look what Masters did to Pinmahn, and that guy's his wife's first cousin!"

Sam cast a look towards her friend, as Lancer marched in. "Don't worry, Manson I'll get this all straightened out."

"I don't want it '_straightened out'._" She said through clenched teeth. Lancer shook his head.

"Manson, there's no way. This is way out of your league." Sam gave a frustrated grunt.

"Just so I understand correctly, neither one of you think I can do this?!?" Her eyes looked furious but above all they looked hurt.

"Sammy, that is so not what we're-" Sam held a hand up.

"Valerie, when you wanted to seduce the guy in the mailroom and you didn't think you could learn Spanish fast enough, who quizzed you on your verbs?" Sam demanded to know.

Valerie looked down, chastened. "Senorita Sam."

"And Lancer - when you picked up knitting, who showed you how to hold the needles?" Sam asked.

Lancer looked away. "You did, Samantha."

Valerie snickered. "You knit?" She asked Lancer. She then turned to Sam. "_YOU_ knit?" Sam waved her off.

"So, this is my chance." Sam told them determinedly. There was a slight beat before Lancer sighed deeply.

"I'm not holding your job for you, Manson." Sam leapt up and hugged him, then awkwardly backed away. Lancer cleared his throat, dusted off his light blue button-up shirt, and backed away towards the door.

"Don't make me send you the memo on hugging in the workplace." As he walked out Valerie smiled serenely.

"I really do believe in you, Sam. Anything you need, I'll help you out." Valerie sat on her desk as Sam plopped down in her swiveling chair.

"…You can start by handing me the garbage can." Turning away and wrinkling her nose, Valerie limply held Sam's hair back as she tossed up her donut.

* * *

Hey all! Sorry about the delay. I actually had all of this written up about two weeks ago, but I didn't have a chance to upload it. I was just way busy with school and planning out the final six chapters of TSAC. Hope you all liked the chapter! 


	5. Second Thoughts

Hey all, sorry for the delay! I had this chapter all typed up before but my computer crashed, and after that I was so annoyed/disappointed that I just didn't wanna re-write it just then! But here it is. I typed it all in one sitting, so I hope you like it.

Keyarrah

* * *

Tucker shook his head firmly. He straightened his Tiki Post uniform with a stern look on his face.

"No. Uh-uh."

Sam stood in front of him in front of the Tiki Post. The sun was beating on them both, and the disgusting feeling of oncoming perspiration was not helping her situation. She threw Tucker a pleading look before looking behind them.

On the street in all of her broken down glory sat Bambi…otherwise known as Tucker's lovechild. Next to Bambi sat Sam's unnamed black Nissan.

"Tuck, it's for a couple of months at the most." Sam promised. Tucker stood firm.

"No. You cannot just _borrow_ her for a couple of months. That's like…**ten years** in Bambi life!" Sam sighed.

Did he really just say that?

"I'll give you my Nissan." She desperately attempted to negotiate. She didn't miss the rolling of his eyes, though.

"You can name it whatever you want!"

Tucker turned to walk in before pausing. He turned around and scrutinized her for a moment before replying. "Wow. This must be big."

"Yeah, it is. I got an assignment from Masters. I'm going back to high school." Sam waited a brief moment for his reaction…it wasn't what she was hoping for.

Tucker began laughing uncontrollably.

"What?!" He managed to get out in sputters before cracking up again.

"What?" Sam demanded.

"Do you…remember high school?" Tucker asked, calming down.

"It was a long time ago, Tucker—" Sam explained as if talking to a small child. Tucker interrupted.

"No. Sam, do you remember what they called you?" Tucker asked.

_Samantha Manson stood in the middle of a packed cafeteria. She wore a Rolling Stones t-shirt, a black and gray plaid skirt, and fishnets. Her signature combat boots adorned her feet. Her amethyst eyes were wide with something…humiliation? Probably. _

_The students, all rowdy and raucous chanted in one eerie voice. They all stared at her, some pointing, most laughing. _

"_**Sam the Clam! Sam the Clam! Sam the Clam!"**_

_Sam glowered at a redhead cheerleader who was hanging off of Dash's arm. Of course. Blabbermouth little wench..._

* * *

Back in real time, realization hit Sam's face. "Sam the Clam…" she murmured. She looked slightly stricken and very unnerved all of a sudden.

"I know. I came up with it." Tucker admitted. "…You look nauseous." He replied after a beat.

"Nauseated. I look nauseated…Oh. Oh God." Sam gulped. High school was a memory hitting like a bad hangover…an eternal hangover…that she would be living again. "Oh God." She repeated.

Sam threw a hand over her mouth before racing toward the dingy bathroom of the Tiki Post. After getting violently ill, she staggered to her feet. What was it about high school that made her sick?

She looked down to her feet to see a splash of water pooling from under the old and broken toilet. Staring at where her black-heeled feet should have been she saw Converses…

* * *

_Sam walked down a crowded hallway in Casper High. On her back was a purple bookbag with various iron-ons plastered all over it. 'Animals Are People Too!' and 'Save The Whales!' stuck out in the sea of square and oval patches._

_She took a deep breath and decided that yes, she was definitely going to do it. She was going to take a stand…and potentially ruin the social dictatorship-like hold that high school had upon its students…or her life. Yeah, she was probably going to ruin her life. _

_In all of her worrying, she failed to notice a brunette boy pour a large package of pre-cooked clams into her bookbag. Sam, due to the fact that she'd had a cold for at least a week couldn't smell. If she could, maybe she would have smelled the peculiarly fishy smell pertruding from her pack._

_Leaning up against a locker in his normal cool fashion was Dash Baxter, the blonde haired, blue-eyed quarterback of the Casper High Ghouls. _

_Sam wasn't supposed to like him. That's what the inner Goth in her told her. But as an individual she was entitled to like whomever she liked, right? Was the world of high school so closed-minded that she, a social outcast and he, the ultimate supreme ruler of high school couldn't be together? Of course not! _

"_Hey Dash," Sam cleared her throat and sniffled. _

_Dash looked around with his eyes (he was way too cool to actually move his head) for a moment as if he was unsure that someone had spoken to him. When his sight hit Sam he looked around once more…you know, just in case. _

"_Yeah?" He finally responded. _

"_I noticed that you weren't in Math, and you know Mr. Harper is a total freak when it comes to notes so…here… if you want—" Sam was interrupted by the awkward sound of water hitting linoleum. A puddle of clam juice had pooled between her legs. _

"_Hey Manson!" the brunette boy hollered. "We know you don't eat 'em, but you gotta wear 'em?!" _

_Dash snorted and walked away without a second glance as a pretty red head in a cheerleading uniform summoned him over with a flip of her hair._

* * *

Sam blinked in disbelief and looked into the mirror in shock to see that she'd paled. She squinted her eyes. Something wasn't right…

Fading was the reflection of her current twenty-three year old self, dressed in a simple red wine colored blouse and dark gray jeans. She was now staring at a teenage Samantha Manson dressed in the t-shirt of some Indie band that she couldn't currently name for her life, jeans similar to the ones that she was currently wearing aside from what looked like thousands upon thousands of tears and holes in them and classic Converses.

Amethyst eyes stared at amethyst eyes before Sam gave a shriek and backed away from the mirror in horror.

She slipped in the puddle of toilet water spilling on the floor and fell on her butt with a loud 'slam'.

"Oh! Sam, I forgot to tell you about the…" Tucker winced at her predicament. "toilet."

"This…is a very bad idea." Sam told herself aloud, slumping down to the floor.

* * *

Valerie and Sam caroused through the mall casually, Sam still a bit shaken from her flashbacks from Hell.

"So you were a bit of a misfit, so what?" Valerie shrugged, pulling Sam into a store. Sam picked up a platform sneaker and just stared at it before looking at Valerie.

"Val, remember espadrilles?"

Valerie nodded. "Yeah. But please. That doesn't make you a misfit. Everyone and their grandmothers had those shoes." Sam sighed.

"No, Val. That's exactly why I would have choked myself before I owned a pair of those. Besides, the girls threw them at me in the locker room."

Valerie winced. "Okay…that's…semi-bad."

"Whoever got the most direct hits to my head at the end of the year got to throw me into the pool." Sam told her pathetically.

"Okay…ultimate epitome of bad." Valerie bit her lip, then shook her head. "But just because you sucked back then doesn't mean you'll crash and burn this time! You've got **me** as your fashion consultant, hello!"

Valerie pulled something off of the rack. "Look at this skirt! Cute!"

"Which is why I'm worried." Sam replied to her earlier comment. "And Val, that's not a skirt. It's lingerie. That's a **slip**."

"Oh…" Valerie faltered. "Well…I'm sure you could rock it…"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Yeah, under clothes maybe." Sam pulled her out of the store with a brief smile to the saleslady who was giving Valerie an iffy look.

Valerie took control again and pulled her into a supposedly hip teen store called 'Ambiance'. They fished through the racks for a while before Valerie started up conversation again.

"So, you know, I was thinking about what you said about really being kissed. I think Roger could be the one." She told her friend.

"Really?" Sam asked, impressed. "What'd you feel when you kissed him?"

Valerie thought for a moment before finally replying, "Bridgework?"

"Are you ladies looking for something for your daughters?" a nice saleslady questioned.

Valerie sent her a glare that sent the lady running. "I'm only twenty-two lady! Do I look like I have a teenage daughter?!"

Sam sighed and continued their conversation as if nothing had happened. "Very romantic, Val." She picked up a button down cardigan. "Cute."

Valerie smacked it out of her hand. "For my mother, maybe."

"Val, this is about reporting not accessorizing." Sam argued.

"…and we'll have to do something about your hair." Valerie muttered to herself.

"Valerie!…what's wrong with my hair?" Sam's hands shot up to her raven locks.

Valerie just shoved a red corset-like top at her.

Sam gave her a questioning look to which Valerie answered, "I saw it on the mannequin."

"The mannequin looks like a whore."

"Then be glad you're not the mannequin."

Giving up, Sam held on to the top as Valerie threw a pair of dark jeans into her arms with a look that clearly said, 'Happy now?' Sam gave a small smile.

Deciding to help so that she didn't feel so worthless she picked up a cute pair of red ballet flats. Valerie looked at them and smirked.

"Those are on the mannequin."

"I'm glad I'm not the mannequin then."

"High school is gonna be funnnn!" Valerie grinned.

Sam blanched again. "…For who?"

* * *

Hope you all liked it! Thanks for reading, please review.


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